


Pollination

by Mraowface



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Aziraphale is the world's oldest slut, Aziraphale's favourite number is 69, M/M, Oral Sex, Sex Pollen, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:08:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22512262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mraowface/pseuds/Mraowface
Summary: Aziraphale comes across an old book of poetry, which has certain peculiar effects...  Crowley reassures him that sluttiness is nothing to be ashamed of
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 114





	Pollination

Aziraphale wriggled, and settled a little more comfortably into his armchair. He had a lovely pot of earl grey brewing, and a box of Portuguese custard tarts Crowley had fetched for him yesterday. He was a little more dubious about the book of poetry written by 'A Lancre Witch' – but it had some exciting looking illustrations1 and a handsome leather binding, so he'd determined to give it a go.

Once his tea was brewed to perfection, Aziraphale happily sat with the book in one hand, custard tart in the other. He frowned a little as he turned past the frontispiece. It appeared to be nothing more than a book of dirty limericks.

“But I'm not sure I want to learn about a 'deviant man from Nantucket...” he murmured. Still, he didn't like to put a book down without giving it a fair trial, so he kept reading. Some of it was quite amusing really, and he was a little startled at the degree of detail in the plentiful illustrations.

“Oh my...” Aziraphale loosened his collar and bow tie. He took a sip of his tea, then pulled a face. The bookshop was getting uncomfortably _warm_ , and he was struggling to enjoy the hot tea, delicious though it was.

Maybe the bedroom upstairs would be cooler? Aziraphale was torn between continuing reading – the book was really quite engaging, and there was some real craftsmanship that had gone into the woodcut illustrations.2

A few pages later, Aziraphale found that he'd unconsciously unbuttoned his waistcoat. It really was getting _terribly_ warm in here. Could he be getting a touch of fever?

In the end, the most sensible course of action was clearly to go find Crowley upstairs. Either the change of air would cool him down, or Crowley could check if he was running a temperature.

Rising ungracefully from the armchair, Aziraphale lurched towards the stairs dizzily. He really must be getting ill – almost as if his brain were being starved of oxygen.

Still, the Guardian of the Eastern Gate was made of sterner stuff. He made it to the stairs, and gratefully latched onto the bannister. After that, it wasn't too difficult to clamber up the stairs. Crowley would be at the top, and everything would be alright.

Aziraphale staggered to the bedroom. It was strange, but it seemed to be even _warmer_ up here. When he pushed the bedroom door open, he found Crowley tangled up in the duvet, still asleep. Body burning up, Aziraphale tumbled onto the bed.

“Hey, an- mmph...” Crowley's mouth was suddenly engaged by a ravenous angel. Aziraphale clawed the duvet away, all the while biting hungrily at Crowley's lips.

With a little willing assistance, Aziraphale finally managed to extract his demon from the offending duvet. Crowley was naked underneath,and that was _perfect_. Shifting position, Aziraphale climbed on top of Crowley, pinning his arms to the bed.

Still nipping aggressively at Crowley's lips, Aziraphale drew a bead of blood, which he then sucked away greedily. He moved down to Crowley's neck, biting possessively and claiming the demon as all his.

“ _Fuck_ , angel..” Crowley moaned blearily, still half asleep.3 When Aziraphale made his way down to his demon's nipples he drew a startled yelp.

Crowley began to rub himself against the angel's still-clothed crotch. He'd gone from being sound asleep to rock hard arousal in five seconds flat. Still restrained by Aziraphale's hands, he attempted to get himself off by friction alone.4

Eventually Aziraphale relinquished Crowley's arms, and raked his nails across the demon's ribcage demandingly. Crowley began an uncoordinated attempt to undo some of Aziraphale's many buttons. This effort was soon curtailed, when Aziraphale rapidly swivelled a full 180° to come face to face with Crowley's now aching cock.

Before Crowley could get his head round the change of position, Aziraphale was already deep throating him. Crowley began swearing softly as the angel gorged himself on his cock, plunging it down his throat with quick, deep thrusts.

By a feat of extraordinary concentration, Crowley managed to unzip Aziraphale's fly, while gasping and squirming in pleasure the whole time. A little manoeuvring, and Aziraphale's cock bulged out. Crowley lost no time in lifting his head to enthusiastically suck the angel off.

Aziraphale began thrusting quickly into Crowley's mouth, all the while working at the demon's cock with his throat. The air was filled with obscene noises, as they both hungrily bypassed their bodies' need to gag or breathe.

Crowley was getting overwhelmed by all this stimulation so early in the day, but Aziraphale kept fucking his throat savagely, while still never letting up with his own mouth. Pinned helplessly to the bed, Crowley came in several long spasms. With his throat clenching and twitching around Aziraphale, Crowley lay flopped on the bed as he let himself be used. Soon enough the angel spilled down his throat, and Crowley whimpered in exhaustion.

But when Aziraphale pulled off to the side, it quickly became clear that he wasn't satisfied yet. Manhandling Crowley roughly, he flipped him onto his front and then lifted him at the hips. Dazedly content, Crowley let himself be pulled into position.

Still burning inside, Aziraphale began devouring Crowley's arsehole with his tongue. He pressed in greedily, soon supplanting his tongue with one finger, and then two.

Crowley mewled as he helplessly took the angel's fingers. His face pressed into the mattress and his body pulsed with Aziraphale's desperate plundering.

It was almost a relief when Aziraphale substituted his cock for his fingers. He quickly set a pounding rhythm, sending Crowley juddering into the mattress. Said demon was now making incessantly incoherent noises, happily fucked into exhaustion. There was no letting up of Aziraphale's pace.

Sixteen hours later, and Crowley was nigh on unconscious. Aziraphale was sprawled beside him, lazily pumping at both of their cocks with his fists. The bed was sticky with come, and Aziraphale's head was reeling with endorphins. When he came for a final time, something clicked in his head, and he looked around in horror. He quickly miracled clean the bed, and crept away to let Crowley sleep it off.

His poor demon... Aziraphale felt terrible about having used Crowley so. Anyone could tell that the poor creature was exhausted, and Aziraphale was entirely responsible. Aziraphale was thoroughly ashamed, and resolved to destroy the book that he could now clearly see had bewitched him. He would apologise to Crowley, and beg him for forgiveness.

Despite this resolution, Aziraphale still managed to put in a solid ten hours of fretting.5 He hovered anxiously near the bed, keen to start apologising as soon as he possibly could.

When Crowley finally yawned and rubbed his eyes, Aziraphale leapt straight in with the begging for heartfelt forgiveness. After a non-stop two minute screed of 'I'm so sorry's, Crowley was thoroughly alarmed.

“Zira, what's happened? Are you ok?”

“You mean you don't remember?”

“No...?”

Aziraphale looked baffled. “What's the last thing you remember?”

“Uh, just the ten hour epic pounding. I think I passed out after that, I was bloody knackered...”

Aziraphale's face turned a shameful shade of red. “Then you do remember.”

At this point Crowley sat up with a groan. “Zira, what the fuck are you on about? We had sex, then I had an amazing sleep (which I think I thoroughly deserved, by the way), and then I woke up and walked straight into this mindfuck of a conversation. What's going on?”

Aziraphale now seemed more angry than ashamed. “Well, _apparently_ , what is going on is that my beloved husband _completely failed to notice_ I was under some kind of – some kind of _lust_ spell!”

“ _What?”_

“I read a book!” Aziraphale snapped. “And apparently it was enchanted. I couldn't help myself. I – I had to do all those things... And you _didn't even realise!”_

“Ok, angel, calm down.” Crowley reached over to stroke Aziraphale's cheek soothingly. The angel glared, but permitted it. “I'm sorry I didn't realise. I was having a good time, and none of it seemed that out of character. You're ok now though, yeah?”

“Out of character? Are you implying there's something _wrong_ with me?”

“What? No, of course not! Angel, you're perfect just as you are. But... but what you are is a slut.” At this point Crowley lifted Aziraphale's hand and kissed it affectionately.

Aziraphale stiffened. Crowley could practically see him puffing his feathers up in indignation. Then he gave a sigh, and deflated again.

“I suppose... you're probably right. I shouldn't – I shouldn't be angry at you for telling me a painful truth.”

“Angel, no. It's a good thing! I love you, Zira, and all your slutty behaviour. I love that you're demanding, and I love that you fuck me into exhaustion. Please don't be sad...”

Mollified, Aziraphale leaned in for a kiss. Crowley really did look quite becoming like this, hair mussed from sleep and eyes still blinking at the daylight. He nipped at his demon's lips possessively once more. Crowley let out a needy whine.

When they broke apart, Crowley had a familiar dazed look in his eyes. “Love you, Zira...” he mumbled again.

“I love you too, my dear.” Maybe he wouldn't get rid of that book after all. Crowley did so like to be read poetry...

1Pornographic

2Artistically pornographic

3And already mentally cataloguing this incident into his top five favourite ways of being woken up

4Crowley was a connoisseur of the joys of frottaging

5Fuelled by self-doubt and Portuguese custard tarts

**Author's Note:**

> Valvopus: I KNEW YOU'D MISS ME <3 <3 <3


End file.
